


Believe, dear brother.

by Mybrolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Warning: Mentions that Santa might not be real, disbelief, santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mybrolly/pseuds/Mybrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft takes his little brother to the shopping mall to meet Santa. </p><p> </p><p>  <i> The younger Holmes pondered for a moment and retook his brother’s hand. “I’ll show you. He’ll have a fake beard, I bet you my dessert tonight.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe, dear brother.

**Author's Note:**

> The writing bug left me for a while, this is my attempts to get it back with a bit of fluff.

Sherlock Holmes could never be considered the conventional child but that never stopped his elder brother attempting to give him the childhood experiences he himself missed out on. Mycroft was always treated as a genius, a prodigy and destined for greatness. He missed out on Easter egg hunts, sleepovers, rough and tumble in the dirt with other kids his age. A birthday party each year was all the young Holmes was afforded but that was filled with Mother and Father’s friends or business associates rather than friends or children Mycroft’s age to indulge in some fun. Mycroft attempted to give Sherlock everything he had missed out on. He relived his childhood through the eyes of Sherlock (not that his brother appreciated his actions but Mycroft held out hope that one day he might).

 

Mycroft was more excited than his younger sibling when it came to Christmas and taking Sherlock to visit Santa. At seven years old, Sherlock finally understood the traditions of the holidays and what Santa represented. He knew this man brought gifts to the good children, coal to the bad and delivered them all on Christmas eve, though Sherlock never believed any of it. The child was wise beyond his years, he calculated how long it would take to deliver presents to the deserving children, he accounted for those that don’t celebrate and averaged the length of time needed for each delivery. He formulated theorems regarding the flight of the sleigh and reindeer, he refused to believe magic existed and above all else, Sherlock was adamant that Santa would not be conveniently waiting in a fake north pole at his local shopping mall in order to find out what he wanted for Christmas.

 

Mycroft was exasperated when all proof was put forward to him. He had known himself that Santa Claus didn’t exist, his parents had never bothered to pretend to him that there was any reality in the myths and fantasies. When each child at school glowed as they revelled in their trips to see Santa, Mycroft stayed silent in order not to destroy anyone else’s beliefs. After years of waiting to be old enough to take his brother, Mycroft wouldn’t let Sherlock’s logic spoil his plans.

 

As they arrived in the bustling mall and faced the fake grotto with flashing lights, adult elves and figurines of penguins that were long past operational, Sherlock merely rolled his eyes. Mycroft gripped his hand and led the protesting child towards the entrance. When Sherlock’s wriggling from his grip became too much to contain, Mycroft dropped to his knees in front of the child and looked into his eyes.

 

“What if you’re wrong? What if, despite scientific proof, Santa is real? What if that man in there can bring you what you want on Christmas day?”

 

Sherlock barely looked at his pleading brother, “It’s not possible. My research is flawless, My. Santa isn’t real.”

 

“What if that’s what he wants you to think? Good girls and boys have faith in him, perhaps you must past his test.”

 

The younger Holmes pondered for a moment and retook his brother’s hand. “I’ll show you. He’ll have a fake beard, I bet you my dessert tonight.”

 

There was no winning this battle, Sherlock knew his scientific methods better than most university students, he couldn’t be swayed but Mycroft hoped that perhaps one day his efforts would be fondly remembered.

 

The boys lined up with the other families and watched as one by one they disappeared into the grotto to cheers of “ho ho ho” coming from inside. Sherlock continually pointed out the mistakes in the fake environment, his mind completely perturbed at the insinuation that polar bears and penguins would play together in the snow and the complete insanity that was a living snowman.

 

When their turn arrived the Holmes boys entered the grotto to find the man in red with his white beard overly fluffy, two elves standing by his side.

 

“Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas,” Santa beamed, “And what’s your name little boy?”

 

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, I might ask you the same thing.”

 

The Santa stayed in character as he bellowed, “Why I’m Santa Claus of course, and these are my elves. How about you tell me what you want for Christmas? Have you been a good boy, Sherlock?”

 

With one quick tug on the white faux beard, Sherlock exclaimed “told ya” to his brother and smiled triumphantly. “Santa’s not real. Can we go?”

 

Mycroft sighed in defeat and opened his mouth to speak but the man dressed as Santa interrupted. “Yes, son, you’re right. I’m not Santa. But I am one of his helpers. Santa’s too busy at Christmas, there are _so many_ children now who want to see him and want presents, the big man had to call in some help. Sometimes he gets me and some others to wear his outfit and take notes on the good girls and boys, other times he gets your parents to help…or even your big brother.” Mycroft smiled warmly at the man. “Santa is very real, I’ve seen him myself, but you have to keep this between us, not all the boys and girls are smart enough to know the truth.”

 

Sherlock pondered over the man’s words. It hadn’t occurred to him that Santa might have employees beyond the elves. Not once had he calculated a multitude of different ‘Santa’s’ doing the deliveries, or the parents helping. It clicked in his head that Santa wouldn’t need to deliver to every house on Christmas Eve if he left the presents with the parents at an earlier point. He knew he had to make more calculations, work this all out with the new variables, but perhaps, just maybe, there w _as_ a real Santa.

 

The man watched Sherlock process the information before pressing him again, “So tell me, Sherlock, what should I tell Santa you want for Christmas?”

 

Sherlock stood tall and bit his lip before speaking. “I’d like a new microscope, a big one, with an electric light. My one isn’t strong enough. Please?”

 

“Well, have you been a good boy?”

 

“Umm…” Sherlock dropped his head, “I have fights with My… but I never mean what I say, I just get angry when he touches my stuff or when he doesn’t want to play with me. I’m not a baby, I will play his games, I just want to spend time with him.”

 

Mycroft couldn’t help but choke up at the words. All he ever wanted was to be important to his little brother, give him something he never had.

 

“Well,” The fake Santa thought, “We all have some fights with our brothers, don’t we? As long as you’re sorry and tell him that, then, well, I guess you’re on the nice list.”

 

Sherlock smiled and made a mental note to apologise to his brother for earlier, perhaps even give him some of his dessert after all.

 

The elf handed Sherlock a present from the pile, a generic boy’s toy wrapped in blue Christmas paper and the other took position behind the camera. Sherlock stopped her and ran over and grabbed his brother’s hand, “You have to be in it to, My.” The picture was taken of the two Holmes boys standing either side of Santa, an arm around each of them and one of the biggest smiles Mycroft had ever genuinely had.

 

“Thank you.” Mycroft nodded to the man in the red suit and made his way to the exit.

 

“One more thing,” Sherlock jumped up and whispered in the fake Santa’s ear.

 

The man sucked in air through his teeth, “Well, son, that’s a big ask. I’ll speak to Santa and we will try our best, but for now you have your brother, be a good boy to him, won’t you?”

“What did you ask him for?” Mycroft queried when they made their way out of the grotto and back to the chaos of the shopping mall.

 

“It’s a secret. If Santa is real then I want this more than my microscope.”

 

********************************************

When Christmas day arrived, Sherlock was overjoyed with his brand new, university standard microscope complete with electric light and a focus that was far superior to his previous one. He couldn’t wait to make new slides and examine different specimens, he even thought Mycroft would be able to help him and they could catalogue mould cultures together.

 

Mycroft didn’t need a gift that year, he had his picture, his memory and, for however briefly it would last, he had his brother’s believe in the magic of Christmas.

 

It wasn’t until many, many years later when Sherlock finally got the second thing he asked for… _a friend_. 


End file.
